Navy boot camp takes place in Great Lakes Illinois, being from the Deep South, I had to fly in, and that flight to Chicago was the third time I had ever been on a plane. We were told to bring nothing with us, so all I had were the clothes on my back and a paper back book, Ada, or Ardor.
I’d been told to go to the USO office in O’Hare, and someone would collect us. We were a smallish group, maybe ten in total, two girls. I think we were all so focused on what was about to happen, the decisions that we made to end up in that exact spot, no was talking. The bus ride to Great Mistakes, as it is known by many who detoured there from college, was equally silent. It had gotten too dark to read, I don’t know what time it was, I’d left my watch behind with the rest of my life, but I was almost asleep when the bus stopped. The door opened to a well lit car park, Chiefs in head to toe khaki, and Petty Officers in pristine white were greeting people pleasantly as they dismounted the buses. We were ushered into larger groups of maybe fifty, and asked to wait patiently. One by one each group was led inside a long, low, warehouse like building.
We were qued up a long the wall of an extremely wide corridor, in five columns of ten. Our first set of instructions, the last four digits of our Socials would be called out, when we heard our last four, run up to the person who called them out, tell that person your entire Social. Seemed simple enough, but every person who got called fucked it up in some way. One person didn’t run, one person ran up to the wrong person, a girl ran up and just froze. These mistakes were pointed out in a tone and volume that would help prevent future occurrences.
These sorting hats had divided us into two groups, males, and females, and we were led through two sets of doors. Behind the doors sat long rows of stainless steel tables, atop the tables were plastic bins filled various sizes of undergarments. Plain white t shirts, socks, and briefs, we were told to find our size and take one package of each. I had been wearing boxer shorts since forever, and I had no idea what size I needed in tighty whities, but I was too afraid to say that, or open a package and see what they looked like, so I grabbed small, which was what I wore in boxers, and hoped for the best.
The last bin contained the type of bags that you use to ship things, heavy duty plastic, grey lining, white on the outside, with an adhesive closure. We each took one and moved further down to where there were just empty tables. The next set of instructions were so simple, but so confusing, and difficult to follow.
“Put everything you have in that bag, do not seal it.”
People finally began to speak, a bit of chaos was emerging, the one question that could be made out most clearly from the rising din:
“What do you mean everything?”
“Everything.”
I started with my shoes, placing them neatly in the bottom of the bag so that my clothes wouldn’t touch the soles. I took off my socks, and rolled them up and tucked them into my shoes. I was wearing a rugby jersey style shirt, long sleeve, blue an gold, (not a coincidence) with a white collar, a grey t shirt from my high school’s wrestling team, (not mine, but a great story) jeans, and black boxers with little skulls and crossbones on them. I undressed one layer at a time, folding each item and putting it in the bag. Some of the other guys had just stripped down, and thrown their clothes into the bag in a big wad. I was moving slowly, but not slow enough to get asked, with volume and tone, to speed up.
The concrete floor was cold, and felt good, my nervous embarrassment had made me feel hot and flush. I pulled my belt out of pants slowly, so it wouldn’t make that whip sound. I wore my pants loose enough that they just fell to floor once my belt was gone. My boxers were last to go, one quick motion, and I was fully nude We didn’t shower after gym at my school, I didn’t play sports, and have never been in a locker room. I had been naked with girls before, but that was private. I was standing naked, in a crowd of naked, made to feel even more naked by how clean, and neat, and pressed the uniforms were of those directing us to be naked. No one was trying to hide their nakedness, no one was covering themselves with their hand, or holding a package of skivvies in front of their junk. We were all just standing there, naked.
I looked around. My dick was the only one I had ever seen in the flesh. I was very curious, but was glad that I wasn’t the only one taking it all in. I thought I saw one guy with an erection. There was black guy, light skinned, heavily tattooed, with a dick the size of my forearm. He would shift his weight from one foot to the other and his massive dick would swing, and bounce off his thighs, and before it would stop swaying he would shift his weight again, keeping it in motion like a pendulum. An extremely fit guy, with that V shaped torso, whose point would usually be lost behind his clothes, but this one led right to a very well manscaped cock and balls, which were neither big nor small, but in proportion with the rest of him.
Then the actual inspection began. Each person was checked:
“No rings, no earrings, no tongue rings, no dick rings.”
“No neclaces, no bracelets.”
About every fifth person had some item they felt deserved an exemption from the “everything in the bag” direction.
This process took forever, and I thought about the room nextdoor. Rows of fully nude girls, I wondered if they were being bashful, or just as free as we were. I thought about all the different breasts, the small perky ones with nipples that stand at attention almost permanently. The great big ones that hang in a way that makes you want to bury your face in them The dark nipples that seem to taste sweeter, the giant areolas that threaten to take over the whole tit. The landing strips, the bushes that connect all the way around to the butt. The labia spreading out like butterfly wings.
We were finally instructed to get dressed, and I should have gotten a size medium. The waist fit all right, but they made my junk bulge like I had a pair of socks shoved down there. The waist sat so low that everytime I got an erection, my dick would stick out of the waist band.
I had no idea how many more times I would be completely naked in a group of men over the next ten weeks, but I would have guessed a much lower number.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/pq0iil/we_were_all_just_standing_there_naked_mf